


That Kind of Life

by BewareTheIdes15



Series: J2M!AU [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Marijuana, Multi, Porn With Plot, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-03
Updated: 2011-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:06:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BewareTheIdes15/pseuds/BewareTheIdes15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared blames tequila, Misha, and his own dick, in that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Kind of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Baby's first threesome. I blame orbiting_saturn and morganoconner entirely for this.

Jared blames tequila, Misha, and his own dick, in that order. Well, ok, possibly Misha should be at the top of the list because if it wasn’t for Misha tequila wouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place, but then his own dick would kind of had to come before that because really he wouldn’t even be on the vacation torture-fest 2011 if it weren’t for his dick having a freak out about all the sex Misha and Jensen would have if he let them go to the beach house alone. And then Jensen kind of has to be on the blame spectrum too because if it wasn’t for Jensen, neither Jared’s dick nor Misha would be tangled up in this at all and there would just be tequila, which would probably be ok.

  
He had been fully prepared to grit his teeth and just get through this goddamn week – this is what he gets for putting a down payment on the beach house rental so far in advance – but this… well, this was the last thing he ever would have expected. See, a smart, rational guy, when faced with the prospect of _his vacation with his number one fantasy_ turning into _his vacation with the guy he’s been in love with for years and said guy’s new boyfriend_ would have probably just let the lovebirds have the house and saved up his vacay days some trip down the road that _wouldn’t_ be like slowly peeling his skin off with steel wool.

  
But no, of course that’s not what Jared did. Because evidently, he’s still punishing himself for having pussied out over and over again in this fucked up mating dance he and Jensen have been doing literally forever. Ok, not _literally_ , but almost. Since college anyway. But first Jensen was straight and then Jared was accepting that fact and getting engaged and then Jensen was maybe bi and then Jared was in Chicago for that freelance job for six months and then Jensen was swearing off dating and then Jared had a boyfriend and then Misha waltzs in and starts acting all Misha and suddenly Jensen’s doing dudes except they’re the wrong dudes because they are Misha and not Jared and has he mentioned how Misha is not Jared? Because yeah.

  
Alright, the pot might need to take a little bit of the blame here too. Misha has some good shit.

  
And isn’t that just the crux of the problem? Not Misha’s awesome weed connections, although at the moment that’s not really helping Jared stay clear and level-headed about these things. No, the crux of the problem is that Jared actually _likes_ Misha. He likes Misha’s quirks and the stories that he’s never really sure whether they’re the truth or an audacious lie because one is just as likely as the other with Misha. He likes that he’s funny and easy-going and fiercely loyal to the people who matter to him. In fact, in the six months or so since the guy started working at Jensen’s firm and kind of stumbled his way into their little group, Jared had started to consider Misha one of his best friends. Right up until the night Jensen told him that they were dating. Jared has never wished so hard to spontaneously cease to exist.

  
It’s not that Jared isn’t glad to see them both happy, it’s just that Jensen was supposed to be happy with Jared – that’s the way it is, the way it’s always been supposed to go. It’s supposed to be Jared giving Jensen sunscreen rub-downs on the beach and _Jared_ randomly leaning over to kiss him breathless and _Jared_ making him make those noises that he has had to listen to through the wall of his bedroom at least three times a day since they got here. This would all be so much easier if he could just hate Misha.

  
None of which – or maybe all of which – explains exactly how the three of them having a relaxing dinner and getting to sleep early turned into tequila shots and smoking pot on the living room floor. Or how them all sitting around shooting the shit, chilled out and loose, somehow ended with Misha trying to examine Jared’s tonsils with his tastebuds.

  
He’s not actually particularly clear on how that happened, but it is totally happening and Jared could probably be doing quite a bit more to stop it, now that he thinks about it. But then again, so could Jensen, because however drunk and/or high he is, there’s no way he’s gone enough to miss that his boyfriend is all up in Jared’s business and if Jensen’s ok with it, Jared’s not particularly inclined to step in right now and make it stop. Misha, it turns out, is a very talented kisser. With a really nice ass. Which Jared should possibly not be feeling up, but who is he to ignore it when Misha crawls right into his lap?

  
The taste of him is warm and clean, a little sharp from the tequila, a little sweet from the weed and salty with the ocean spray that seems to linger constantly in the air, painting them all slightly damp and sticky. His hair slips silkily around Jared’s fingers, no product, just the drag of a little sweat that Jared can feel prickling his own scalp, body lithe and hard and if not quite like the one Jared’s spent the better part of a decade mooning over, still really fucking nice. He’s only obsessing a tiny bit about how burning hot the weight of Jensen’s eyes on them is.

  
The wet sound as their lips try to cling just a moment longer seems loud in the sudden hush as Misha pulls away, completely overridden by something that’s close to a moan. There’s an echo of it off to his left and Jared has to work a bit to coax his heavy eyelids up and look at Jensen. It’s worth the effort, though.

  
Jensen looks just as edible sprawled out across the nubbly living room rug in jeans and a t-shirt as he did this afternoon half-naked and glistening in the sun. He also looks wild; eyes glazed with a lot more than a little substance-indulgence can account for, mouth slack and shiny like he’s been licking his lips. Jared’s probably been hard in his board-shorts for a while, going by that – _oh fuck yeah_ \- that _thing_ Misha’s doing with his hips, but now he’s painfully aware of it.

  
Even moreso when Misha reaches out and snags Jensen by the collar of his shirt, dragging him in close to lick the sheen off of his lips and get it smeared with the kiss-dirty mixture on his own. It’s really kind of spine-searingly hot.

  
He’s watched Jensen and Misha kiss… way too many times in the couple of weeks they’ve been official and it’s never made him feel anything but the need to shove his fist through a wall. A part of that is still there, a slow roll of possessive heat, tempered now by how stupidly sexy it is to catch that pink flash of tongue in the space between their lips when the angles change, the slick noises of their mouths moving together and the way Jensen holds Misha steady and just fucking eats at him like he’s got something hidden in there and Jensen really, really wants to find it. It doesn’t hurt that Jensen’s got a hand braced on Jared’s thigh, fingertips brushing the trapped line of his hard-on almost like an accident as he kneads unconsciously at the muscle.

  
Misha breaks this kiss too – it’s starting to make Jared question his sanity - grin a dark feral thing, and then he’s setting his fingers to the angle of Jensen’s jaw, turning it until he’s facing Jared, nudging him forward.

  
“Your turn,” is a purr against Jensen’s ear, tongue snaking out to swipe over the curl of it, but he’s looking at Jared the whole time so Jared can’t tell for shit which one of them he’s talking to. Not that it actually matters.

  
‘Way too much’ does not even begin to cover the amount of time Jared’s spent imagining how his first kiss with Jensen might go; soft and hesitant, rough and needy, smooth and sensual. He always thought it would be after some big admission that they’ve both been pining for each other for years, the tension at long last snapping – possibly with music rising to a crescendo in the background and a sudden-onset rainstorm. A fifth of tequila, illegal narcotics and another dude were never part of the equation, but it doesn’t ruin things the way he would have thought. In fact, it might even make it better.

  
Jensen stops, so fucking close to the mark that Jared can genuinely taste it; brightness of lime on his breath curling against Jared’s lips, better than an hour of foreplay. Something in his eyes doesn’t sit quite right, almost like worry or warning and Jared doesn’t care; just seriously does not give a fuck what kind of thrashing his heart’s in for once it really knows what it’s missing as long as he finally gets it, just this once, here and now.

  
He surges into it, probably too hard but Jensen compensates, moves with him and pours a groan like hot sugar onto Jared’s tongue. Jensen’s mouth is perfect; hot and slick and already a little puffy from where he and Misha have been making out all fucking day and it just makes Jared want to kiss him better, harder, get his own mark written out there in the dark pink swell of those lips.

  
Totally unnecessary, Misha mutters, “Don’t stop.” Except maybe it was necessary because then there’s a second wet heat skirting around the edges of Jared’s mouth, flirting with the idea of slipping in and Jared’s ability to function on any level sizzles into a fug of steam on the inside of skull.

  
The angles are weird like this, not enough space to move, to fucking breathe, as the two of them share his mouth like an all you can eat buffet; Jensen sliding up to suck on Jared’s top lip while Misha’s tongue darts back inside to trace along the line of his teeth, tickle at the washboard roof of his mouth. Then they’re shifting again, all satiny-smooth and too good to be real as Jensen teases a lick at the corner of his mouth – since when is that a hot spot? – and dips back in so Jared’s stuffed full again, lips stretched as wide around the wriggling slickness as they every have been around a cock. His body’s probably still hanging around somewhere but all Jared can feel is the filthy thrill of getting mouth-fucked by two tongues and the constant low-grade throb of his dick demanding attention.

  
A shock of hot-cool reminds him that he still has skin because it’s being brushed wet by something warm and velvety and-

  
 _Oh Christ._

  
Misha is some kind of magical sex-elf or ninja or something since, while Jared was busy trying to remember why he would ever want to do anything but exactly this ever again, the other man was getting Jensen’s dick out and Jared’s shirt hiked up for it to trail precome across his abs, which should really qualify him for sainthood as far as Jared’s concerned. When this evolved from some random drunk fondling into an actual thing that they’re doing he couldn’t begin to guess, but Jensen makes this beautiful, shocked sound when Jared’s hand wraps around his cock and there’s no way Jared’s going to back down now. Finally.

  
The need to ask if this is something they do buzzes persistently in the back of his head. Jared’s never heard Jensen talk about threesomes or swinging or whatever the fuck this is, but then again, it’s not really the kind of thing that just comes up in conversation. He should ask why this is happening, if this is something they really want; if he’s just a sex toy to them, some sort of kinky footnote to their relationship, or if this is something more. That’s what he _should_ ask. Mostly he just gets hung up on the way Jensen feels scrabbling clumsily at his chest and arm, trying to take Jared’s shirt off without releasing his mouth, and how ridiculously good it feels to be able to feel him falling apart under Jared’s touch.

  
Absolutely wrecked, Jensen breathes, “Oh God, Jay,” before diving back in to lay a long line of sucking kisses underneath Jared’s jaw.

  
He can’t see what’s going on – is more than willing to give up seeing altogether if he can just drown in this feeling for the rest of his life – but he can hear the brush of denim, feel it against his wrist as he slowly strokes Jensen off when the fabric slides further down Jensen’s legs. It’s not anything like optional when Jared skates his free hand around, over the curve of Jensen’s hip – gets briefly distracted by copping a feel because he’s wanted to for going on seven years, and damn that’s a fine piece of ass – before finding out that the steady pull of his hand isn’t the only reason Jensen’s breathing in Morse code.

  
The dip of his cleft is slippery, probably a mixture of sweat and spit – sweat because the room is approximately four thousand degrees all of a sudden, and spit because with his fingers right there he can feel the broad, flat swipe of Misha’s tongue. For one sliver of a second he gets to appreciate the feel of Jensen’s rim stretching, clinging to the stripe of contact like it’s starving for more before the soaked swelter of that mouth is sucking in Jared’s fingers instead.

  
Jared moans into the kiss he’s still locked in with Jensen, more sloppily mouthing at each other than anything approaching coordination or technique with so much else going on. If it weren’t for the fact that jacking is pretty much a reflex with a dick in his hand and the slight, instinctual roll of Jensen’s hips helping out, he kind of doubts they’d be accomplishing anything at all.

  
There’s a harsh pop as Misha pulls off of his fingers, coaxes them down to Jensen’s hole and applies a little pressure with his own.

  
“Spread him for me,” is deeper than he’s ever heard Misha’s voice get before – up to and including all of the noises he’s heard coming from their bedroom this week. Jared’s cock twitches from the awkward angle it’s trapped at against his thigh, shifting smoothly in the mess of precome he’s already spilled in his underwear.

  
“Still pretty open from the shower,” Misha pushes at Jared’s fingers, urging the tips up into Jensen’s heat because Jared kind of forgot what he was supposed to be doing when his entire brain broke in half about ten seconds back, “But I’m betting a little more prep wouldn’t hurt for what you’re packing.” Easy as pie, Jared’s fingers slot in up to the second knuckle and Jensen shies away from his mouth with a high, tight sound, instead biting at the pulse in Jared’s neck, almost too hard, only to suck at it for an apology. “What is it, nine, ten inches? Wait, don’t tell me, I want to be surprised.”

  
The grip around Jared’s fingers spreads grudgingly and fuck but he would love to be able to see that, Jensen parting around the push of his body. The soft mewl he gets against his throat is almost as good, though – does really fantastic things for him below the belt – and once Misha’s tongue squirms it’s way between his fingers, he doesn’t have the room or the mental capacity to complain.

  
Jensen’s whine of, “Stop, stop, not yet,” almost turns Jared’s blood cold, but then he feels Jensen’s hand around his other wrist, trying to get pull his hand off of Jensen’s cock and he’s closer to laughing with relief instead. Making himself shift his grip to the sickle-cut Jensen’s hip is a fight because there’s a very large part of him that just wants to watch Jensen lose it helplessly, speared on Jared’s fingers and Misha’s tongue and the extra digit or two the other man is intermittently shoving up inside. Not quite as large as the part that wants him to do it with Jared’s dick in his ass though.

  
And Misha definitely has some kind of preternatural sex-skills because all of a sudden there’s a condom packet being slapped to Jared’s belly as though he willed it into existence and nimble fingers plucking open the button on his fly. As if he needed any more impetus to be interested in the proceedings. He gets distracted, though, by Jensen’s big hands latching onto his face, turning him eagerly to press their mouths together again, suck on his lips until he can feel his heartbeat in them.

  
A low long whistle drags him out of it, right about the same moment his swamped brain alerts him to the feel of a hand on his neglected cock, the brief flash of pain as it is pulled out totally drowned in the relief of having it freed. Knee-jerk, Jensen is lifting up to look between their bodies at where Jared’s dick has slapped flat to his stomach, so red it’s almost purple and embarrassingly wet at the tip. It jumps spastically at the sound of Jensen’s ravenous moan.

  
Expression manic, Misha looks up from where he’s busy yanking Jared’s shorts all the way off and flinging them across the room. “A promise is a promise, Jen,” he laughs, breathless, jerking ineffectually at Jensen’s jeans, “but the next ride on that is mine.”

  
“Size queen,” Jensen accuses back, finally getting with the program enough to lift his knees and wiggle out of the damn pants, taking a second to strip out of his shirt while he’s at it. Somehow he makes it sound like a compliment.

  
Misha just shrugs, “I’m not the only one.”

  
Theoretically Jared should jump in here and say… something. Like about the fact that this has evidently been a subject of discussion and, if he knows Misha at all, may actually have been an elaborate plan. Or, you know, at the very least about them passing around his dick like a party favor, except just then Misha opens up and swallows him whole, zero to sixty, and Jared couldn’t form words if his life depended on it. Arguing seems counter-intuitive at this point anyway.

  
Clearly that size queen thing wasn’t a joke – there’s no way the happy little noises Misha’s making as Jared’s length pops in and out of the tight trap of his throat are anything but sincere. Especially not with the way he’s rubbing himself – when did he get naked? - shamelessly against Jared’s leg.

  
Jensen’s fingers thread into Jared’s hair, just enough pressure behind it when he tugs Jared’s head back to make it hurt really good. His tongue dips back into Jared’s mouth – _best trend ever_ – to lick away the rough sound that jolts out of him when Misha does this truly reality-bending thing to Jared’s cock.

  
Something savage gets growled through a sharp nip to Jared’s chin before Jensen snarls, “Misha, if you make him come, I swear to God-”

  
And just like that Misha’s mouth is off of him, instead appearing over Jensen’s shoulder on a Cheshire cat grin.

  
“He’s a very demanding bottom, I feel I should warn you.” The seriousness of his tone gets wrecked by the way he winks at Jared and the sharp smack that he can only assume was delivered to Jensen’s ass by the way his eyes widen and his breath hitches.

  
The two of them balanced up there above Jared, flushed and mussed, bright blue and jade green eyes swallowed by a matching surge of lust-blown pupil, they look exactly like the kind of good time Jared should be scared of having. Like if the devil on his shoulder got hold of the angel from the other side and took him out for one hell of a night out on the town. He’s not really sure which one of them would be which in this scenario.

  
He could put a stop to it all about as easy as he could go outside and make the waves quit crashing.

  
Dark blond eyelashes flutter over a thin sliver of green and Jared would pay metric tons of gold to know what Misha just did, but then Jensen’s tearing the idea to pieces by impatiently groaning, “Come on! I want- I need-“

  
What he wants and needs, apparently, is to get so stuffed full of Jared’s dick that his eyes roll back in his head. Or at least that’s what shuts him up when Misha grabs Jared – at some point he must have put the condom on; how the hell does he keep doing that? – and lines him up, other hand on Jensen’s hip, guiding him down. Jensen gives no quarter, just does not fucking stop until he’s balanced on Jared’s balls, hips a smooth, sweat-slippery line against one another.

  
The muscles all around Jared flex and clench, still so goddamn tight even after all of the sex he’s overheard the past couple of days, and he deserves some sort of medal for not just grabbing Jensen and forcing him to fuck himself on Jared’s cock. He’s fucking trembling with the effort it’s taking to hold still.

  
Jensen’s head is tossed back, dictionary definition of agony and ecstasy as Misha’s hands roam the glistening planes of light, sun-kissed skin, latching onto a peaked nipple to make the hot vise around Jared clutch at him maddeningly. It takes him a minute to work out that the shape Jensen’s abused mouth keeps repeating is actually an airless stream of _please please please_.

  
“Please what, baby?” Jesus, is that Jared’s voice? It sounds like he stuck it through a meat grinder. “Tell me what.”

  
Jensen’s eyes fly open, so dark now they’re hardly even human. He wonders if moths feel this in love with the flame before they fly to their doom. “Fuck me. Oh God, Jared, fuck me, please.”

  
How can he ignore an order like that?

  
Jared’s not the only one who’s shaking when he tumbles Jensen down against his chest, strong arms tightening around him instantly as if Jensen thinks this is all going to end if he doesn’t hold on hard enough. The slide out is a gritty drag, the push in no easier than the first, practically forcing Jensen open on inch after inch until he’s balls deep again. The next is easier, though only marginally, but Jensen arches into it like he just doesn’t give a shit that spines don’t work like that.

  
They build up a slow, deep rhythm, Misha’s hand worming between their bellies to fist Jensen’s cock. It’s so good, so sweet and impossible and Jared can’t believe that he’s having this, having it this way, and he’s going to come way too soon but he can’t help himself.

  
Or at least that’s what he thinks right before all of that warm clutch pulls a disappearing act.

  
For a second he can’t figure out what happens as Jensen rises up on the peak of a thrust but instead of coming back down, that gripping heat is just gone. Jensen’s mouth goes slack on a gasp and then Jared _gets it_ just as Misha’s arm comes around to tug him down onto his first push inward. Wonder if they can still get the deposit back if there’s a stain on the carpet from Jared’s grey matter dribbling out of his ears.

  
The pitch of Jensen’s moans is higher as Misha fucks into him, hard, fast strokes that plaster him against Jared’s body, rubs the slippery line of their cocks together. The weight is almost too much when Misha leans forward too, bends awkwardly over Jensen’s shoulder to catch Jared’s lips, fuck his mouth at the same tempo he’s fucking Jensen’s ass.

  
“He says your name, you know,” gets smeared into his lips, and Jensen makes a pathetic sound, “When we fuck. Especially lately. Almost every time.”

  
Jensen’s fingers tighten on Jared’s biceps, cutting pink marks into the skin. “Fucking hate you,” he grunts.

  
“No you don’t,” Misha counters simply, hauling Jensen’s hips up enough to snag Jared’s dick, pull it back and line it up so he can feel the length of Misha’s rasp against his sheathed slit as he pulls free, a seamless transition as Jensen pushes back into the next thrust and all the way onto Jared’s cock again, keening.

  
“He’d want to know, don’t you think?” Misha’s biting at Jensen’s shoulder now, moving with him like Jared’s fucking them both with the frantic drive to get off that’s boiling through his veins. He can only assume the words are directed at Jensen but it’s really hard to focus, everything so overwhelming, and yet every word is like a granted wish trickling over his skin. “How hard you get off thinking about him, how much you’ve been hoping that he’d get fed up listening to us and come give it to you himself.”

  
Jensen’s face looks pained but the sounds coming out of him aren’t even close and he’s grinding down into the force of each thrust like it’s what he’s living for. He’s livid pink, freckles dark and sharp and fucking lickable all over his skin. Maybe it’s a blush or maybe he just feels like he’s being lit on fire from the inside the same way Jared does, but he isn’t denying a bit of it. Not one word.

  
“Jensen’s wanted you for so long. I’ve tried to tell him it’s mutual but you know Jen, he’s stubborn sometimes,” Misha carries on like they’re discussing the weather, but his voice is strained at the edges, cracks when Jared helps him lift Jensen off of his dick and back onto Misha’s, fingers splayed around the furl this time so he can feel Misha sink in. “You’re both extremely frustrating.”

  
Jensen outright screams when Misha’s weight pushes their cocks against each other this time, slippery with so much sweat and precome and the lube from the condom. “Oh fuck, touch me,” he begs, “I gotta,” and Jared’s not sure which one of them he means, but Misha looks pretty busy slamming in to the hilt like a man on a mission so he wraps a hand around Jensen again and starts up a set of fast twisting strokes that have his friend’s breath cutting out on a choked sound.

  
It only lasts for a minute because then Misha’s pulling out again, spitting noisily onto Jensen hole and shoving Jared back inside. Impossibly, Jensen’s even tighter now, body closing up as he nears the end and out of all of this, that right there might take the prize for the hottest fucking thing that’s ever happened to Jared.

  
He spills a handful of seconds behind Jensen, hot, silky pressure wringing the orgasm out of him as he watches non-sense syllables grind out of that plush, perfect mouth.

  
The mess between their stomachs does nothing to stop Jensen from collapsing against him, whole body gone pliant and liquid on top of Jared. It’s too hot for it, feels like his skin should be steaming already and Jensen’s like having a very heavy electric blanket added on to it, but he couldn’t bring himself to complain if he tried.

  
He couldn’t have actually been very close to asleep – his heart’s still trying to jackhammer out of his ribcage – but he startles like he was when something warm and wet brushes his cheek. His shock gets Jensen’s attention too, gets him to turn his head with a slight grumble and suck the tip of Misha’s cock between his lips.

  
Oh yeah...

  
Jared sends a sheepish smile at the third member of their trio, but Misha doesn’t look upset. In fact he looks pretty fucking smug for a guy who hasn’t gotten his rocks off yet. But then, there’s an easy way to take care of both of those issues.

  
The expression on his face morphs into brow-furrowed bliss when Jared take his turn at this whole licking escapade and laps around the border where Jensen’s lips are sealed about halfway down the shaft. Jensen makes a pleased sound over it too and Jared catches his eyes fluttering open, shares a look that says all that needs saying. After all, Misha may have gotten Jensen like this sooner, but he’s been Jared’s partner in crime for a lot longer.

  
With a long, lingering flick of his tongue, Jensen pulls off, mischief bright over the sated glow in his eyes and Jared moves in to share a kiss that gets parted around the leaking head of Misha’s dick, mouthing and licking at each other from either side of the swollen crown. Jensen, ever the showman, gets his fingers back in Jared’s hair, angling him this way and that around moans and tiny nips, pulling him around to gather a thick blurt of precome out of the slit and push it deep into Jared’s mouth. He’s really kind of impressed that Misha manages to last a solid forty-five seconds.

  
Jared’s not exactly sure how much later it is that he manages to convince himself to quit making out with Jensen like a horny teenager around the thick taste of Misha’s come, but it takes another couple of minutes after that to convince Jensen to do the same.

  
“So, um,” he says a little unsteadily into the spare inch of space Jensen’s allowing between their lips, “What just happened?”

  
From this close up, his eyes don’t focus well, but he’s still fairly certain that he catches Jensen blush before his friend is burying his face in the side of Jared’s neck.

  
He gets an answer, instead, from Misha, in the form of, “I was declared Master of All Things for my unfailingly keen judgment in matters of the heart.”

  
Jared sort of wants to hit him just for being able to string words together like that so soon after an orgasm. Jensen makes a serious attempt at burrowing so deep into Jared’s hair no one will ever find him again.

  
“Huh?” is the most coherent reply he’s got. He’s so not firing on all cylinders right now. He’s not even sure he’s actually firing on one at the moment.

  
Oozing self-satisfaction, Misha explains, “I got tired of watching you two pretend you’re not in love with each other. So I suggested to Jensen that we pretend to be a couple to make you jealous.”

  
“Which did not work,” Jensen jumps in, slightly muffled since he’s still got his face wedged up against Jared’s skull.

  
“Which absolutely worked,” Misha argues, unruffled, “I merely underestimated Jared’s ability to control his raw, animal need to claim you.”

  
Jensen snorts, fanning out damp clumps of Jared’s hair as Jared does his best to remember how to talk. Or failing that, at least breathe.

  
“The point being, we had to advance our strategy.” Misha finally fixes Jared with a grin, relaxed and self-possessed. As if they’re all not laying in the middle of the floor naked, covered in sweat and come. “Ta-da!”

  
Jensen finally pulls away enough to shoot Misha a glare that would wither a lesser man and possibly render him permanently impotent. Misha’s smile just widens.

  
Jared really can’t believe he’s trying to apply logic to the situation, but still he finds himself saying, “You couldn’t have just sat us down and made us talk about it?”

  
Misha does have the decency to stop grinning at that, although he looks a lot more confused than ashamed. “That would have rather significantly decreased the chances of us having a threesome, don’t you think?”

  
With a sigh of the eternally suffering, Jensen rolls off of him, flopping out on the rug dejectedly. He looks kind of like he wants to crawl under the nearest rock and die when he peeks up at Jared from under the arm he has flung across his face and the only thing that Jared can think of to say is, “So you two aren’t…”

  
“Not in any traditional, formalized sense,” Misha replies. It takes a few extra seconds and a rather uncomfortable hand gesture for Jared to realize the reason Misha’s holding out the little trashcan from beside the couch toward him is because he’s still wearing the – unappealing cool and sticky – condom. _Ugh._

  
Gingerly he ties it off and disposes of it, at which point he’s managed to scrape together enough braincells to turn to Jensen and see the wary hope in his eyes. The same kind he knows is reflected in his own.

  
“So you…” This would go so much better if Jared could actually finish a fucking sentence, but instead he ends up finding Jensen’s fingers splayed out on the floor with his own, getting them all tangled up together because apparently having a filthy threesome made them regress back to the eighth grade or some such shit.

  
“For a long time now,” Jensen admits tentatively, scooting just a little closer to Jared so their legs brush.

  
“Me too.” He can feel his dimples pushing deep into his cheeks because he’s smiling like a loon but… but _c’mon!_ It’s _Jensen!_ And _this is totally happening!_

  
When their lips meet this time, it’s a lot more like a first kiss than their first kiss was; a barely-there brush of lips, dry and sweet, sharing each other’s air. Jensen looks up at him through his eyelashes, their foreheads pressed together and Jared can’t stop smiling and-

  
“As much as I support you two having your deep romantic moment, I _am_ using up my vacation days for the betterment of your relationship. I expect due compensation.”

  
And Jared really can’t help but thunk his head down onto Jensen’s shoulder and laugh hysterically. It’s been that kind of week.

  
It’s been that kind of _life._

  
An emphatic middle finger aimed his way does nothing to stop Misha from watching them like they’re his favorite TV show from the other side of the rug.

  
“You expect _dick_ compensation,” Jensen drawls, one hand coming up to card through the hair sticking to the back of Jared’s neck.

  
“Precisely,” Misha agrees happily. His body is all sleek, eye-catching lines as he crawls across the carpet to steal a lingering kiss from each of them; tender press of lips, fever-hot stroke of tongue like an invitation. His hand curls around Jensen’s hip in what would almost seem like a possessive gesture except for the way he extends a couple of fingers to traipse suggestively, _intimately_ , over the cut of Jared’s too. He pillows his head against Jensen’s neck, the both of them looking up at him as if for permission as the fingers of Misha’s other hand trail up the inside of Jensen’s thigh.

  
Jared watches as they reach the swell of Jensen’s sac and up to pet at the soft bulge of him, twitching feebly even though he can’t possibly get hard again yet. Watches as Misha strokes and coaxes and wonders if he’s got one more trick up that ninja sleeve of his as the length starts to fatten up the tiniest bit under his attentions. And somehow, Jared finds as he reaches over to cup Misha’s hand against Jensen underneath his own, that doesn’t bother him in the least. 


End file.
